by Dan Koboldt
Kiara glanced at the wall of dark sky that loomed toward them out of the west. “Can we make it before the storm hits?”
“If we ride hard.”
The horses were tired, but Quinn had no trouble spurring his mare to a gallop. She seemed to sense the urgency of the situation. The mountain pony tossed his head a couple of times but eventually followed suit. They plunged along the hard-packed dirt road behind Logan and Kiara in a growing shroud of twilight.
Logan raised an arm to signal and they broke east toward a dark patch of forest. Then the hardwoods gave way to blue and green conifers. Their branches were already draped in snow. The ground was clear except for a thick layer of fallen needles.
Quinn tried to ask where they planned to put up the tents but took a branch to the face instead. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes to find them reining in at a small natural clearing. By then the wind had become a steady roar.
“Secure the horses!” Logan shouted.
Quinn half fell to the ground, but he managed to keep hold of all the reins. He looked around for a good trunk or branch to tie off to, but the snow-covered conifers had nothing to offer. Chaudri rummaged in one of the saddlebags, came up with a handful of metal spikes and a claw hammer. She drove enough spikes into the ground to get the reins secured. The mounts were snorting, showing the whites in their eyes. A primal fear of what was coming had them in its grip. Quinn and Chaudri struggled with hobbles for the horses’ feet so they wouldn’t bolt in the storm.
Meanwhile, Logan and Kiara had assembled a series of telescoping metallic rods about seven feet long. They drove these into the earth at regular intervals around the small clearing. Out came a long roll of ultrafine wire mesh from one of the saddlebags. They wrapped it around the perimeter of their clearing, then draped more of it overhead, supporting the mesh with more telescoping rods like the poles of a circus tent. Logan unwrapped a plastic-covered bundle about the size of a small shoebox, revealing an electric console disguised as a jewelry box. He and Kiara fitted wires from this to the fine-mesh layer.
“Everyone stand clear!” Logan shouted.
Kiara flipped a series of switches on the console, and the fine mesh began to hum. Quinn was half-blind from the blowing snow, but he could have sworn a faint blue glow emanated from the mesh. And within their little clearing, the wind died.
“Don’t touch the mesh,” Kiara said.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said. I’m not a moron.
The sounds of the storm had grown muted, as if shutting an open window on a downpour. Only this was a tempest unlike any Quinn had ever seen. He’d grown up in the desert; he’d seen summer squalls and even a sandstorm, but nothing with the raw fury of this storm. It was like a living thing that clawed at the very ground and shook it furiously.
“Is this a typical storm?” Quinn asked. His voice sounded strange in the clearing’s numb silence.
“For northern Felara, yes,” Chaudri said. “The straight winds aren’t so much a danger as the electrostatic charges. Incredibly disruptive to just about every electronic device that we carry. Not to mention the interference with neural function.”
“Neural as in neuron? As in my brain?”
“Yes—for what it’s worth.” She smiled, but Quinn was feeling his head, as if he might feel the storm attacking his mind. She took a wrist and gently pulled his arm down. “It’s perfectly all right, Quinn. Alissians seem to have a natural resistance to the interference, but we don’t. So we have this,” she said, gesturing at the wire mesh all around them.
“It looks . . . expensive.”
“CASE Global made it a priority investment. The charged plasma keeps debris off of us, too.”
Like a deflector shield, straight out of Star Wars. As if sensing his doubt, a wrist-thick branch from a nearby tree was ripped loose by the wind. It skittered once across the top of the protective barrier, only to tumble away.
“Case in point,” Chaudri said.
“So nothing can get to us?”
“Oh, I doubt it would withstand a crossbow bolt. But it’s good for just about anything else.”
“Hopefully the storm won’t start shooting at us.”
“I’d say we’re reasonably safe.”
Quinn leaned back and stretched. It felt like the first time in ages he didn’t have that tension in his shoulders. “Why aren’t we using this all the time?” He might even get a decent night’s sleep for once.
“It’s an energy hog. Emergency-use only, that’s right in the protocol. The solar chargers will need a few days to replenish the power we’re burning right now.”
“Too bad.”
She leaned close to Quinn and lowered her voice. “There are security reasons, too. The plasma generates an electromagnetic field. Building a sensor to detect it would not be difficult . . . for someone who knew what he was doing.”
“Like Richard Holt,” Quinn said.
“Exactly.”
A jagged line of steep, snowcapped mountains separated Felara from New Kestani to the south. The research team had been unable to determine what happened to old Kestani, or if it had even existed. The fact that mountains formed a physical barrier between Felarans and Kestani seemed a good thing, as the two city-states had remained in a state of open conflict since well before the gateway was first discovered.
The main strategy for both sides was to control the mountain passes, of which there were about a dozen. Possession of these changed hands every few months by military action or treachery; sometimes even by strategic intent. According to Logan, Kestani currently controlled the largest pass, called Nevil’s Gap.
“Border crossings are touch and go,” he said. “The key to getting across without too much trouble is to minimize your threat and have a good story.”
He dug into one of his saddlebags and came up with two hooded robes of plain brown with white stars embroidered over the heart. “So here’s part one. You two are going to pose as Friars of the Star.”
“Who are they?” Quinn asked.
“Sworn pacifists,” Chaudri said. “They take a series of oaths not to use weapons except in the defense of their own lives.”
“It makes us look less like a small military squad,” Logan said.
Quinn took the cloak and paused. “Won’t it seem a bit odd, since we’re . . .”
“What?” Chaudri asked. All innocent, too.
Please don’t make me say it out loud. “You know.”
“A woman and a man?”
“Well, yeah,” Quinn said.
“The friarhood is open to both.”
I’ll be damned. “Very forward-thinking of them.”
“Alissia scores better than Earth in some areas. Gender equality is one of them.”
Quinn tugged on the robe over his cloak. He was all about blending in, and not seeming a threat. “How should I play it?” he asked.
“Just let Chaudri do the talking,” Kiara said.
Great, she wanted him to take a vow of silence. “Sounds like fun,” Quinn said. “You know, I do act for a living.”
“Then act like Chaudri is doing all the talking.”
The somewhat regular vista of mature forest gave way to rocky terrain as they headed south. One morning, after the fog had cleared, Quinn saw the distant peaks of the mountains that marked the border between Felara and New Kestani. Another day and night of riding put them well into the foothills. Despite Kiara’s sense of urgency, they had to slow down here; the hard-packed dirt road had become gravel, and Logan disliked the reduced visibility of the road ahead. More than once he called a halt while he rode around blind turns or scouted ahead over the next ridge.
But this was Alissia, so of course it didn’t matter how prepared they were.
The attack came at the worst time and place possible. The road had narrow
ed to little more than a goat trail sandwiched between a steep ridge on their left and a precipitous drop-off to the right. Logan had the lead, Chaudri the rear, with Kiara and Quinn between them. Their only warning was the soft rattle of some gravel tumbling down the ridge just ahead of them. Out of nowhere, two gray-clad men hidden among the rocks jumped out in front of Logan’s horse. One of them swung a sword at Logan; the other went for his horse’s reins.
“Ambush!” Logan shouted.
No shit. Quinn wondered if he should draw his sword or keep up the pretense.
Logan leaned back and away from the blow, sawing at the reins to turn his horse around. The animal snorted and kicked one of the attackers; he tumbled over the edge and out of view. Then Logan had his sword out.
Quinn turned, saw two more figures in gray running up to box them in. “Behind us!” he shouted. Chaudri turned to engage the attackers. A small avalanche warned of more men coming down the rocky slope. Two of them. Kiara cut the first one down with her crossbow. The second charged right for Quinn.
“Shit!” Quinn said. Survival trumps pretense.
He fought to get his sword handle free of the robe disguise. He drew the blade just as the man was on him. Quinn made a weak attempt at a thrust. The man knocked it aside—this was definitely not a twelve-year-old boy. The returning slash should have taken off Quinn’s arm at the shoulder, but instead glanced off the hidden armor. It hurt like hell. It also put the man off balance. He fell down in front of the mare. Instinctively Quinn spurred her, hard. She rode him down.
Quinn lashed the sword to his saddle and took up his bow. Logan had killed two more attackers; his sword was spattered red. Kiara turned aside a sword blow and ran a man through with her saber. Chaudri was locked in contest with another attacker. Quinn drew an arrow, put the sight pin on the man’s back, and just loosed. Didn’t even think about it. At ten yards, he couldn’t miss. The shaft struck center mass. The man collapsed. Chaudri sagged in relief, and nodded her thanks.
Then all was still, but for the stomps of the horses and the panting riders atop them.
“Everyone all right?” Kiara asked. Two ragged forms lay motionless below her.
Chaudri had a nasty gash on one arm, and her hands were shaking. Quinn couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the trampled mess of the man he’d ridden down. It had all happened so fast, and he was just trying to stay alive. But he had always been a creator. He made things: his tricks, his magic, the excitement of an audience. On the ground was something he’d destroyed. He felt his stomach roiling. He half fell out of his horse and threw up in the weeds.
Logan dismounted and checked one of the bodies. “Looks like an old Felaran uniform. Must be deserters from the battle for the gap,” he said. “They couldn’t have picked a better place for an ambush. We were lucky.”
“Lucky?” Quinn said. He wiped his face with a sleeve and fought another wave of nausea. “How do you figure?”
“If they’d had bows, we’d be dead right now.”
Quinn’s stomach lurched on him again. He dry-heaved for a few minutes. Nothing came out; he was completely drained.
“Pull yourself together, Bradley,” Kiara said.
I’m trying.
She and Logan helped Chaudri climb out of the saddle. The gash on her arm wasn’t as bad as it looked. Logan broke out the med kit. They shook hemostatic powder onto the wound to stop the bleeding, and wrapped it up tight with bandages. Logan wanted a look at Quinn’s shoulder next. The skin was already black and blue where the sword had hit him.
“Not much I can do about this,” Logan said. “It’s going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”
“Great. That gives me something to look forward to,” Quinn said.
“Look at the bright side,” Logan said. “It’ll remind you to keep your guard up next time.”
“Felarans and New Kestani are Alissia’s answer to the Hatfields and McCoys.”
—R. HOLT, “ALISSIA: POLITICAL OVERVIEW”
CHAPTER 6
BORDER CROSSING
Two days after the ambush, the mountains pressed in all around them.
“We’ve been spotted,” Logan said quietly. “No, don’t look around. Ridge to the northwest. They’re good, whoever they are.”
“The Kestani at last,” Kiara said. “Remember the story, people. We need to sell this just right.”
Within ten minutes, there were watchers on both sides. According to Logan, at least. Quinn didn’t see anything, but he was under orders not to “look around like an idiot.”
At Kiara’s signal, they slowed the horses to a walk. It wasn’t long until a squad of pikemen in maroon-slashed uniforms materialized on the trail to bar their way.
“Can I help you?” Kiara asked. Her voice had a sudden inflection to it, almost a hint of British royalty.
“Name and purpose,” one of the soldiers said.
She turned up her chin. “I’ll give you my name, soldier, when you give me yours.”
Quinn tried to hide his rising panic. What the hell was she doing? These soldiers were going to butcher them like cattle.
But something about her retort had changed things with the soldiers. “Apologies, my lady,” the one said. He straightened. “Captain Darenko, Kestani advance guard.”
“And I am Kiara. Now, move your oafs aside so we can be on our way. We have a schedule to keep.”
“Sorry. No one from Felara is permitted through.”
“Are you deaf as well as blind? We’re from Valteron!”
“I meant no off—”
“You may slap yourself later for the offense, intended or not. Now, out of our way.”
“You’ll have to speak to the commander before going through.”
Kiara scoffed in perfectly feigned disgust. “I don’t have time to speak to unwashed soldiers all day. We’d like to clear the pass before nightfall.”
“Everyone speaks to the commander. No exceptions.”
Kiara waited a moment as if considering this proposal, then sighed. “Very well. Lead on.”
The man who’d spoken and another soldier beckoned them forward, deeper into the pass. The other two fell in behind Chaudri once they’d passed. They seemed peaceful enough, and theoretically Quinn had the protection of his assumed brotherhood, but the thought of the spears behind him made his back itch. Ahead, the pass widened into a small canyon into which the Kestani—or possibly the Felarans, before being routed—had built a considerable fortress. They rode past lines of sharpened stakes buried in the ground, pointing outward at an angle like spines on a porcupine. Logan muttered something about “horse killers.”
Beyond these was a stockade wall, peppered with slits manned by archers and crossbowmen. Above and behind them were wooden platforms with machinery that Quinn recognized as catapults. These were loaded and ready to fire, pointed toward the north end of the pass. He sucked in a sharp breath, wowed by the display.
A low, square building squatted beside the catapult platform. The soldier who’d led their escort excused himself and ducked inside to retrieve the commander. He returned with a thin, energetic man with dark hair and a goatee speckled with gray.
“Are you in command here?” Kiara demanded.
Her imperious tone washed over this man like a wave crashing on shore. He spent a long moment taking them in, frowning as he looked at the weapons strapped to their horses. “I am.”
“Commands and those who give them are a thing of war,” Chaudri said. “Peace has no need of either.”
Quinn had to bite his lip. Chaudri knew what she was doing, all right. Came out of nowhere and just sold it. No one even blinked. She’d really missed her calling on the stage.
The commander cleared his throat. “Well said, sister. But peace is a long way off for us.”
“Peace is right in front of everyone,
if they could look for it,” Chaudri said.
Kiara coughed into her hand, and the message was pretty clear: Dial it back, Chaudri.
“Your man says that we have to see you before going through the pass,” she said. “So here we are. Have we wasted enough of each other’s time yet?”
“Where are you from?”
“Valteron, of course,” she said.
“Why were you in Felara?”
“The same reason I go anywhere. To buy and sell and make a profit.”
“I see,” said the commander. He walked past her and along the horses, looking it all over with a sort of casual air.
“Do you?” Kiara asked. “Because every moment I waste here costs me money.”
The commander seemed to notice Chaudri’s bandaged arm for the first time. “Looks like you had some trouble on the road.”
Kiara flicked a hand at Logan, as if the discussion of such things was beneath her.
Logan cleared his throat. “If I may, Commander?” he asked. Polite, deferential. That was good. Play to his ego, since Kiara had trodden all over it.
The commander perked up a bit, and gave Logan a curt nod.
“We were attacked by bandits about a half day’s ride from here,” Logan said. “Six men in old Felaran uniforms.”
The man grunted. “Deserters. I’m not surprised, given the routing we gave them. Did you lose any men? Or cargo?”
“We fought them off, thanks to the good brothers here,” Logan said. He nodded at Quinn and Chaudri.
“Our arms can swing a sword,” Chaudri said. “But only with sadness.”
“Great sadness,” Quinn echoed, in a low tone. He just couldn’t help himself.
Logan coughed, covering his mouth with his hand.
“How fortunate,” the commander said. “In any case, we’ll send a patrol down to ensure that there were no survivors.”
“Good,” Kiara said. “We’ll be on our way, then.”
The man strolled back toward her, rubbing his chin. “See, the thing is, we’re looking for three Felaran spies.”
